


A World Apart

by concordances



Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Multiple Lives, Multiple Universes, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, imagine a soulmates and 25 lives mashup, temporary illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concordances/pseuds/concordances
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junhwe eventually loses track of the number of times he encounters Jinhwan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfpastwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastwo/gifts).



> Originally written for the [2016 iKON Spring Fic Exchange](http://exchangekon.livejournal.com)! Crossposted from [livejournal](http://concordances.livejournal.com/3731.html).

Junhwe is two months into the job when Jinhwan shows up. The bell tinkles as the door to the bookstore is pushed open, but Junhwe is so preoccupied setting up his Michael Jackson playlist that he doesn’t notice. A soft thud from the Literature section draws him out from behind the counter to investigate.

Jinhwan is near the very back of the store, standing on tiptoe, arm outstretched towards the highest shelf. Junhwe’s heart stills. Each time Jinhwan jumps, his sneakers land back on the floor with a soft thud. He notices Junhwe staring, and turns.

“Hi,” Jinhwan says with an embarrassed smile. Junhwe notes with disappointment the politeness in his tone. “Could you help me get that book?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Junhwe nods.

He doesn’t remember what he takes down from the shelf. He barely remembers ringing the book up at the cashier, and he definitely forgets to inform Jinhwan of their latest promotions and new membership card, which is what the last part-timer got fired for. Right now, though, Junhwe doesn’t care. He’s moving as slow as he can without seeming negligent, trying to think of a way to make Jinhwan stay a little longer.

Jinhwan looks at him with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Junhwe lies quickly. “Of course. Everything’s fine. Do you like–” he looks down at the book in his hand. “Modern poetry?”

He already knows the answer. He knows because Jinhwan had told him once, long ago.

“Not really,” Jinhwan admits with a laugh. “It’s for a friend.”

“What sort of friend?” Junhwe asks. He immediately regrets it. At this point, Junhwe is sure he could fill a book with all the dumb things that come out of his mouth when he’s nervous. _One hundred and one different ways to ruin a conversation_. He could sneak it onto the bestseller shelf, too.

Jinhwan looks amused. It’s a relief– at least he hasn’t labelled Junhwe a complete weirdo. But then, Jinhwan is the kind of person nice enough not to label anyone a complete weirdo after only one meeting.

“The sort you help buy books for when they can’t buy it themselves,” Jinhwan answers easily. He tilts his head. “What kinds of friends do you have?”

Junhwe feels his cheeks grow warm. He gives Jinhwan his change without looking at him, puts the book in a bag and hands it over.

“Thanks for visiting,” he mumbles, as per employee protocol. “Please come again.”

He imagines a look passing over Jinhwan’s face as he accepts the bag– something familiar, a flicker of recognition, maybe. But by the time Junhwe glances back up, Jinhwan is almost at the door. He half-turns towards the counter, gives Junhwe a small wave before stepping outside. Junhwe tries to ignore the growing lump in his throat as he watches him go.

He might not see Jinhwan again in this lifetime. Then again, Jinhwan could come back to the store as early as tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. As long as Jinhwan knows where to find him, there’s a chance.

It’s enough.

 

 

 

Before Junhwe starts figuring out how things work, Jinhwan is a singer.

His face is plastered across the city, on everything from buildings to face masks to non-stick frying pans. Junhwe watches him on television and feels a familiar tension in his gut. He doesn’t just wish he could meet Jinhwan again– he wishes he could _be_ there, up on stage, performing with him. It’s silly, because the most practice Junhwe has had is in the shower, hair slicked back with shampoo, singing to a sold-out crowd of soap bottles.

He spends a fortune on albums to get into one of Jinhwan’s fansigns, stands in line with a hundred waiting girls. By the time Junhwe gets to the front, his hands are trembling in anticipation. He adjusts his snapback over his hair, trying not to look self-conscious.

Jinhwan barely spares him a glance as Junhwe walks up to the table. “Are you a fan?” Jinhwan asks, taking Junhwe’s album and flipping to the middle of the booklet.

Junhwe feels his smile falter. “A fan?”

“I don’t get many male fans at fansigns,” Jinhwan explains with a small smile, marker poised over the page. “Are you here for your girlfriend? Who should I sign to?”

“Hyung,” Junhwe says, desperation edging its way into his voice. “It’s me.”

He wants to say, _look at me_ , but then Jinhwan does, expression morphing immediately into something apologetic. “I’m so sorry,” he says. And then: “I have a _really_ bad memory for faces. Are you… you were at the fansign in Busan, right?”

Junhwe’s heart sinks. Jinhwan is peering at him, not a hint of recognition on his face. “It’s me,” Junhwe mumbles, even though it’s obvious that it won’t do any good. “It’s Junhwe.”

There’s an awkward pause. Jinhwan lowers his head and writes _To Junhwe_ , followed by his signature and a smiley face, with a smile so wide, it’s definitely overcompensating. Junhwe doesn’t even get a heart.

“Thanks, Junhwe,” Jinhwan’s smile looks forced, and Junhwe hates the way Jinhwan says his name, like he’s not used to the feeling of it on his tongue. Jinhwan hands Junhwe back his album. “I’ll greet you properly when we next meet,” he promises.

That’s the first time. Afterwards, Junhwe learns that there are things that stay consistent. Junhwe never grows up far from Seoul, never stops wanting to dance. He never gets to choose how he meets Jinhwan, and Jinhwan never remembers him.

No matter how many times the cycle repeats itself, Junhwe never learns.

 

 

 

Donghyuk’s newest exercise regime involves swimming laps at the public pool. It just so happens that Jinhwan has a friend who works as a lifeguard there– one Jinhwan spends an inordinate amount of time hanging around and talking to in the afternoons. The lifeguard’s nameplate reads ‘Bobby’.

Under the pretense of helping Donghyuk count laps, Junhwe sits himself down and thinks of ways to approach Jinhwan. If only things were as easy as being _Bobby_. He watches sulkily as the lifeguard spend his break splashing water at Jinhwan in the kids’ pool. Bobby seems loud and obnoxious, but very much liked by Jinhwan. And he has abs.

Eventually, Donghyuk revokes Junhwe’s ‘workout buddy’ status on the grounds that Junhwe “can’t count, can’t swim, and can’t seem to take your eyes off the lifeguard– why were you staring at the lifeguard, anyway? He wasn’t your type.”

Junhwe tries not to scowl. “What d’you mean, my type? What’s my type?”

Donghyuk shrugs. “Someone too good for you, probably.”

Junhwe scowls this time. Donghyuk laughs and offers to sponsor him a pair of floaties.

In hindsight, Junhwe should have accepted the offer. Because the next time Jinhwan is at the pool, Junhwe is so nervous walking over to start a conversation with him that he doesn’t notice the kids playing in the area. One of them barrels into him as he passes, sending Junhwe straight into the deep end of the adult pool.

He hits the water with a splash. The panic is immediate– there’s no ground beneath his feet, and Junhwe’s arms flail madly as he struggles to bring his head above water. He’s sinking, swallows mouthfuls of chlorinated water, submerged and helpless until someone grabs him.

He’s pulled to the surface of the water and drags him to the edge of the pool. And who should it be but the lifeguard on duty, Bobby.

Junhwe doesn’t think the situation could possibly get more mortifying.

“Do you need to be resuscitated?” Bobby as he lays Junhwe down on the floor, face so close that he takes up the entirety of Junhwe’s field of view.

“No,” Junhwe chokes, inching away. He feels dizzy and sick, but otherwise alive.

“You’re the biggest kid I’ve ever saved in this pool,” Bobby comments, just as Jinhwan makes his way over.

“Are you okay?” he asks Junhwe, eyes wide in concern.

Junhwe nods miserably. At least he managed to get Jinhwan’s attention.

Bobby places a hand on Jinhwan’s shoulder. “I need to get back to work,” he says seriously. “Teach this kid how to swim, will you?”

Junhwe gapes as Bobby turns and takes an abrupt leave. Kind, generous Bobby. Wonderful, handsome Bobby. Jinhwan looks equally surprised.

“He was kidding,” Jinhwan says quickly. “He didn’t really mean… I mean, if you really can’t swim, I could teach you, if you want…”

Junhwe flushes, tries to look nonchalant. “I’ve been wanting to learn.”

Jinhwan smiles, earnest in a way that makes Junhwe’s heart ache. Even when Junhwe is a stranger to him, Jinhwan is still friendly. Junhwe does his best to smile back.

Jinhwan takes him by the wrist, tugging him in the direction of the kids’ pool. “Let’s start over there.”

 

 

 

There’s one where they’re sitting in a bar together after a long day at the office. Junhwe isn’t much of a drinker, but it’s easy to agree when Jinhwan is the one extending an invitation. Jinhwan is his hyung in the company, anyway, so it would be rude to decline.

A row of cubicles separates them in the day, but now they’re shoulder to shoulder, Jinhwan leaning a little too close to him to be completely sober. Junhwe is feeling slightly tipsy himself, mind taken over by a pleasant buzz.

“You know,” Jinhwan starts, a lazy lilt to his voice. “You’re the only one who would come drinking with me. Everyone else I asked had somewhere else to be.”

Junhwe nods, mind comfortably blank. Jinhwan takes it as encouragement to continue.

“I feel like–” Jinhwan’s tongue darts out of his mouth, and Junhwe’s eyes follow the movement. “Like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” he admits quietly. “Everyone has some sort of direction in life, something going for them. Did you know Jung Chanwoo is married?”

Junhwe nods again, trying to picture Chanwoo’s face. He must be the one who sits diagonally behind Jinhwan, who frowns every time he catches Junhwe looking over in Jinhwan’s direction. He hopes Chanwoo hasn’t mentioned that to anyone.

Jinhwan sighs. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I want to be here. I think about being stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life, and…” he trails off, reaching out to grab his glass and knock back the rest of his drink.

It would be a lie to say Junhwe expects to hear that– Jinhwan is always cheerful at work, good at what he does and liked by all. But Junhwe understands, maybe too well. Their company is run-of-the-mill, nothing to be proud of. Graduating with a degree in engineering and joining the long queue of young people funnelled into white-collar jobs had been the easy path. The safe path.

Jinhwan looks so despondent, and Junhwe feels helpless. He wants to tell Jinhwan not to be discouraged, that he’s met him across countless lifetimes and Jinhwan is always kind, always amazing, and Junhwe loves him in every one of them.

Jinhwan turns to him, an apologetic smile on his lips. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. I guess I just feel comfortable–”

“Hyung,” Junhwe interrupts. “Do you ever feel like there’s something missing from your life?”

It’s a plea, one that slides off his tongue like he’s heard it before, repeated the same words in a past life. Junhwe is pretty sure it’s the alcohol talking, eroding his sense of caution to nothing. Still, it’s sad to think that something this significant to him is barely a ripple in Jinhwan’s reality.

Jinhwan is watching him, eyes unfocused. “No one’s ever a hundred percent content.”

Junhwe shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. I–” he swallows. “Do you believe in fate?”

It’s too deep a conversation for their respective levels of sobriety. Jinhwan doesn’t respond, doesn’t have to. Junhwe finds that he’s been moving slowly towards him; they started out half an arm’s length apart, but now that distance is only several centimeters.

Jinhwan’s pupils are blown wide, mesmerized. He doesn’t move away.

A part of Junhwe knows he’ll regret this. Maybe as soon as tomorrow morning, when he’ll have to go to work and sit two rows away from Jinhwan like none of this ever happened. The aftermath will probably be messy. Maybe Jinhwan won’t want talk to him after tonight. There are so many things that could go wrong, but for the moment, Junhwe does what feels right.

He leans forward and kisses Jinhwan.

 

 

 

In the spring, Junhwe’s class goes on an excursion to Jeju-do.

He’s twelve years old, still growing into a body he’s not used to, tall for his age and constantly restless. He moonwalks down the path to try and impress Jang Hanna, and ends up crashing into an unsuspecting resident.

It turns out to be Jinhwan. He’s younger than Junhwe is used to, has a couple of centimeters on Junhwe, but that’s less obvious when they’re in a heap on the ground.

“Sorry,” Jinhwan yelps, the first to scramble up. It’s not even his fault– Junhwe should be the one apologising– but preteen awkwardness prevents him doing something as basic as that. He takes the hand Jinhwan offers him, trying not to stare as Jinhwan pulls him to his feet.

“You okay?” Jinhwan asks.

Junhwe nods, ducking his head.

There’s nothing momentous about their encounter. Even so, Junhwe files it away in his memory for years to come, the way Jinhwan looks with his straight bangs and baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. Jinhwan is fifteen and Junhwe is drawn to the way he carries himself– or maybe it’s just Junhwe who’s young and impressionable.

He never sees Jinhwan again after that day. Junhwe doesn’t remember how his own story ends, what he does or who he grows up to be, but it’s hard to forget a lifetime where he had to look up to meet Jinhwan’s eye.

 

 

 

If there’s one thing Junhwe has learned from running into Jinhwan over and over, it’s that Jinhwan is a nice person. Not a pushover kind of nice, but a ‘loves dogs and won’t judge a hopeless kid who can barely string a sentence together’ kind of nice. A normal nice.

It’s not easy to get off on the wrong foot with Jinhwan, but somehow, Junhwe manages it. It starts with a term project worth half Junhwe’s final grade due by 0800 hours, six cups of black coffee, no hours of sleep, and an important lecture Junhwe drags himself to right after.

“Morning, Jinhwan-hyung,” Junhwe mumbles as he passes him, right before his sleep-deprived brain remembers that he definitely, absolutely isn’t supposed to know who Jinhwan is in this lifetime.

Jinhwan looks up, surprise turning to confusion.

“We’ve met before,” Junhwe explains hastily. And then, for some reason, sleep deprivation spurs him on to add, “I know that you have a sister, and you like listening to John Mayer, and you think poetry is dumb.” If he didn’t look apprehensive before, Jinhwan does now.

“So, yeah, we know each other,” Junhwe rambles. “Obviously, I wouldn’t know any of that stuff if we didn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence follows. It stretches long enough for Junhwe to regret trying to talk to Jinhwan on zero hours of sleep, and hey, Junhwe actually feels kind of physically disconnected from his body. His vision is going a little funny, too.

“Um… right,” Jinhwan replies, then looks as though he doesn’t know what to say next.

“I’m not a stalker,” Junhwe says quickly.

Jinhwan opens his mouth to respond, but they’re interrupted by a shout of, “Hyung!”

Junhwe’s head snaps up. He doesn’t recognize the voice, but he immediately recognizes the person running up to them as Kim Hanbin.

Hanbin seems to notice Junhwe standing there awkwardly. “Who’s this?”

“Someone I know,” Jinhwan replies, then adds under his breath, “Apparently.”

“Is he bothering you?” Hanbin asks. It’s a joke, Junhwe knows it’s supposed to be a joke, but that doesn’t stop him being annoyed.

Jinhwan rolls his eyes. “You’re bothering me,” he says, nudging Hanbin fondly.

Junhwe tries not to glare at Hanbin. He knows who he is, has seen him across plenty of lifetimes. Hanbin gets along well with Jinhwan (and Bobby, when they co-occur) but is weird with almost everyone else, and has the most ridiculous smile Junhwe has ever seen. Usually, Hanbin is Jinhwan’s friend.

But not this time. Junhwe wishes he hadn’t drank so much coffee, because while the caffeine is keeping him alive, it’s also heightened his senses enough to catch the way Jinhwan looks at Hanbin, softly and with a hint of affection, and the way Hanbin’s fingers curl around Jinhwan’s shoulder, just short of protective. Jinhwan laughs at something Hanbin says, leans into his touch, and Junhwe _knows_.

“Lecture’s about to start,” Hanbin says, grabbing Jinhwan’s hand. “Come on.”

Jinhwan’s eyes flit to Junhwe as he leaves. It lasts only a second, and he looks curious, but nothing more. Junhwe is left standing in the middle of the lecture hall, never having felt more like a complete stranger to Jinhwan.

He shouldn’t be upset, he tells himself. Of course there will be lifetimes where he’s not the first, where someone else sees in Jinhwan what he sees. If Jinhwan is going out with Hanbin, then that’s that. It’s his choice, after all. Junhwe hopes things go well for him.

But it still kind of hurts.

That night, Junhwe dreams that a boy in a dark green snapback knows too much about him, follows him around and tries to befriend him. It’s more than a little creepy, and Junhwe wakes with his eyes stinging, feeling more demoralized than usual.

He draws his knees to his chest, a familiar desperation welling up in him. It’s hard waiting for Jinhwan to show up in every lifetime, and even then, having no guarantee that things will work out. It isn’t fair. A part of him wishes he weren’t bound by these feelings, always chasing after someone who only loves him back sometimes.

Junhwe presses his palms to his eyes. He stays like that for a long time, and falls asleep wondering selfishly, bitterly, why Jinhwan couldn’t have been the one to have to try and win him over, lifetime after lifetime.

 

 

 

Sometimes, given the right circumstances, Jinhwan seems almost to believe him.

Junhwe and his dance crew have gained a small following after performing on the streets of Hongdae for several months. Their fans consist mostly of high school girls, but it’s a definite start– especially for a group formed on a whim in high school.

Junhwe is on his way over on a Friday when they get a text from Jungkook. Apparently, someone is setting up in their regular spot. By the time Junhwe arrives at the scene, Donghyuk is pacing, Jungkook looks worried, and Yugyeom is engaged in some sort of staring match with someone Junhwe’s never seen before.

There are a few of the other-performers-slash-new-rivals gathered. They must be a band, judging from their instrument cases. Junhwe is about to step up and join Yugyeom when he catches sight of Jinhwan among the new faces, hovering by the side.

“No one _owns_ this street,” a guy with a guitar slung across his shoulder reasons. “We have as much of a right to it as you do.”

Yugyeom glares. “This is _our_ spot.”

“We’ve danced here every Friday night for the last four months,” Donghyuk points out.

“Why don’t you just let us play for a while?” their bassist suggests. “You can have your space back afterwards.”

“Why don’t _you_ wait till _we’re_ done?” Yugyeom counters.

“Prime hour,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. “They’re gonna steal our fans.”

When Junhwe is sure Donghyuk isn’t looking, he sidles over to where Jinhwan is untangling a microphone wire. “I’ll convince them to let you go first,” Junhwe whispers. “If you’ll give me your number.”

Jinhwan looks up with a startled laugh. “Deal,” he says, without missing a beat.

The plan works almost seamlessly, the flaw being of course that Donghyuk isn’t fooled for a second. He side-eyes Junhwe for the entirety of the six songs Jinhwan sings, only relenting when Junhwe gestures a hasty apology. The look on his face says, _you have a lot of explaining to do on Monday_.

Even after exchanging numbers, Jinhwan hangs back after the rest of his band has left, waits until Junhwe is done dancing and the audience has dispersed to approach him.

“You dance well,” Jinhwan says, straightforward but sincere. “Wanna get dinner?”

They end up going to the nearest McDonald’s, befitting of a couple of street performers. Jinhwan offers to buy dessert when he discovers he’s hyung by three years, and Junhwe refuses, though he finds himself gradually letting his guard down around the older boy. Jinhwan seems to be in an exceptionally good mood; for a while Junhwe wonders if he might not have to fight so hard for Jinhwan’s affection in this lifetime.

“We’re soulmates,” Junhwe tells Jinhwan over their burgers. “Destined to meet in every lifetime, except you don’t remember me.” He keeps his eyes on his food, tells himself he doesn’t care if Jinhwan thinks it’s a joke. At this point, Junhwe wants the say the words aloud no matter how ludicrous they sound, get it out of his system.

“Yeah?” Jinhwan sounds interested, eyes sparkling in amusement. His expression isn’t one of disbelief.

“Yeah,” Junhwe says, growing bolder. “This isn’t the first time we’re meeting. Sometimes I search for you, but others we meet at a store, or a concert, or something.” He doesn’t really know why he’s telling Jinhwan all this, only that he’s been keeping it bottled up for so long and Jinhwan is the only person even remotely involved, even though he doesn’t know it. “One time,” Junhwe continues lightly. “We attended the same lecture at university.”

Jinhwan rests his chin on his palm. “Did we live happily ever after in that one?”

Junhwe has to pause before answering. “Yeah, sort of.” _One of us did._

“If it’s happened before,” Jinhwan says. “It means it’s not impossible, right?”

Junhwe swallows, suddenly not as hungry as he’d been a few minutes ago. “Yeah.”

Jinhwan doesn’t end up buying dessert. But their first dinner date– if it can even be considered that– is more or less a success, and Jinhwan puts Junhwe’s number to good use after that. He invites Junhwe out for the occasional meal, to Dongdaemun to help him pick out a friend’s birthday present or a new pair of shoes. Eventually, they settle into a routine of spending time together.

The mutual attraction is always there, just under the surface of things. Jinhwan is the one to try and put a name to their relationship, the one to kiss him.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Junhwe doesn’t have to spend his days wondering when he’ll see Jinhwan again, _if_ he’ll ever see Jinhwan again. He doesn’t have to worry about what Jinhwan is going to think of him this time, in this life, whether he might be living outside Seoul or choose work over Junhwe or be dating someone already.

Instead, Junhwe spends his days compiling a long list of movies he likes, because Jinhwan promises to watch every one of them with him. He continues to dance, and Jinhwan teaches him to sing, and when they attempt to harmonize over dinner and fail, Junhwe laughs so hard his sides hurt. Unlike so many lifetimes before, Junhwe is happy.

Somehow, it’s no less terrifying.

 

 

 

There’s the one where the doctors don’t find the tumour in his aunt’s brain until it’s too late. Her funeral is held in the middle of winter, and Junhwe doesn’t cry out of fear that his tears will freeze to his face. He’s still young enough to hold his mother’s hand, so he clings tight, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it’s someone else’s body in the casket.

With his aunt gone, there’s no one to encourage Junhwe to dance, no one to convince his parents that passion is important and grades aren’t everything. Junhwe goes to medical school, prepared to dedicate the rest of his life to saving people just like her. He becomes a surgical intern after he graduates, spends his days shuffling through white hallways.

And then he meets Jinhwan.

Jinhwan is no more than a name printed on paper at this point, slotted into the temporary hold on one of the ICU doors. He’s not even in Junhwe’s ward, but that doesn’t stop Junhwe pushing the door open and entering the room.

“Hi,” Jinhwan says, perking up from the hospital bed. He looks slightly pale (but not like he’s dying, thank God he doesn’t look like he’s dying), and Junhwe lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Jinhwan blinks at him. “Are you here to check on me?”

That’s how Junhwe finds an excuse to keep visiting– twenty minutes each day to make sure everything is fine, that all the equipment is running smoothly. He doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong with Jinhwan, and even though he knows Yunhyeong works in this ward, Junhwe never asks.

Jinhwan is the kind of patient Junhwe usually dreads. He’s perceptive and likeable, good at striking up conversation when he wants to. It must be boring confined to a room with just the hospital’s five television channels for company, because he always wants to.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my day,” Jinhwan says casually as Junhwe jots down notes on his clipboard. “It wasn’t interesting, anyway. I’m sure yours was better.”

He’s wrong on both accounts. Junhwe would happily listen to Jinhwan recite the alphabet backwards, if he could. The report in Junhwe’s hand is for a patient who’d been assigned to him the previous day– _cystic cerebellar astrocytoma_ , it reads, and Junhwe reminds himself that it has nothing to do with Jinhwan, it _can’t_ , because this is the wrong ward for it anyway.

It’s easy to forget that Jinhwan is his hyung when he tries to negotiate for Junhwe to bring him pizza for dinner. Junhwe is a bad doctor, but not _that_ bad a doctor.

He wonders if it had been inevitable that they had to meet this way in this life. Junhwe doesn’t want to be a doctor if it means Jinhwan will be sick, even though for a long time after Junhwe chances upon his room, things seem to be going fine.

“I know you’re not supposed to be here,” Jinhwan tells him out of the blue one day. “Doctor Song told me you’re from the neurology department.”

Junhwe stiffens, keeps his eyes fixed on the report in his hand.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” Jinhwan asks. It’s an honest question, not loaded or accusatory.

“I’ll tell you,” Junhwe promises. “After you’re discharged.”

Jinhwan is quiet. It’s not an awkward quiet, like Junhwe has said the wrong thing, but a thoughtful one, where Jinhwan considers his words and decides them reasonable. “It won’t be long, then,” Jinhwan says with a nod, and Junhwe takes that as a good sign.

Junhwe knows that he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to Jinhwan, and it’s not fair to himself. For a few months now, he’s almost forgotten that patients aren’t supposed to be real people– they’re bundles of conditions and corresponding treatment tied to a ward number, distinguished by dietary preferences and how often medication needs to be administered. It’s customary, and the only way to cope when patients come and go as often as they do.

The news that Jinhwan had been rushed to the emergency room in the middle of the night reaches Junhwe in the morning, as he’s measuring a patient’s heart rate. Yunhyeong pulls him outside, whispers it in his ear like he’s telling a dirty secret.

He leaves before Junhwe has the chance to ask why he’s telling him, of all people. Jinhwan had probably been dying all along, Junhwe realizes. There must have been a part of him that had always known it– he’d just been too scared to admit it to himself.

Junhwe suddenly feels impossibly tired, but it’s hard to tell whether it’s because of the news or the fact that he’s been awake for over thirty hours. He can’t remember a time he didn’t dread coming into work before the day Jinhwan showed up. Those short visits had brightened his day considerably, always given him something to look forward to.

Junhwe can’t find it in himself to put up a fight, so he barely reacts at all, just accepts his fate as he returns to his waiting patient and the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

 

 

 

The next time Junhwe meets Jinhwan, they’re both reaching for the last discounted cup ramyun at the convenience store. The time after that, they’re at a club, Jinhwan dancing up against him under flashing multicoloured lights. They’re members of partnering business firms, in a board meeting together. Their moms are regulars at the same post office. Their dogs got into a tussle in the park and won’t stop barking at each other.  
Each time, Jinhwan smiles and introduces himself to him. And each time, all Junhwe hears is _don’t screw this one up_.

He’s in his final year of high school when a new bingsu cafe opens halfway between his school and home. Junhwe stops by one afternoon, walks up to the counter and is shocked to see Jinhwan manning the cashier.

“Hi,” Jinhwan greets. “Can I take your order?”

Junhwe can still picture Jinhwan lying in bed, face paler than the blue hospital gown he was wearing. The wound is still fresh. Junhwe orders and leaves as fast as he can.

Maybe if he pretends he doesn’t love Jinhwan, he thinks, blocks him out completely, he’ll be able to live life without being so afraid.

It’s short-lived, though, because he runs into Jinhwan again a week later. A heavy rain starts up when Junhwe is near the cafe, and he runs to the closest bus stop to take shelter, only to see Jinhwan do the same. It’s off-peak, and there’s nowhere to go without getting soaked. They’re the only two people there.

Junhwe stares sullenly down at his phone, the screen dead because he’d forgotten to charge it in the morning. Jinhwan peers over at him. “I know you,” he says. “You came to the cafe last week. Injeolmi bingsu with ice cream, right?”

Junhwe’s breath hitches. He glances over.

“Lucky guess,” Jinhwan laughs. “That’s what most people order.”

“Oh,” Junhwe says, disappointed, and then annoyed with himself for being disappointed.

“Sorry,” Jinhwan says quickly, noticing his expression. “That wasn’t funny. I’ll give you a discount next time you visit.”

“But you recognize me?” Junhwe ventures.

“Yeah,” Jinhwan taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “I remember you because– how should I put this– when you came to the cafe last week, you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

Junhwe finds it in himself to laugh.

“You’re a student, right?” Jinhwan asks with a tentative smile.

Junhwe nods. “Graduating this year.”

“What are you planning to do after?” Jinhwan seems to catch himself, wincing. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Junhwe shrugs. It’s not like it’s a big secret. “University.”

Jinhwan nods slowly. The way he’s looking at Junhwe makes Junhwe feel like he’s being analysed. “But what do you _want_ to do?” Jinhwan asks.

Junhwe is taken aback. But there’s no harm in telling Jinhwan, he thinks. After all, there were lifetimes where they did it together. Junhwe still think about performing in Hongdae, still hears the applause they received in his dreams.

“I want to be a dancer,” he answers with a conviction that surprises even himself. “I want to stand on stage.”

Jinhwan looks impressed. “Then you should go for it. You only get one shot at life, right?”

It’s ironic, it really is. But even after countless lifetimes, Junhwe still doesn’t know how not to hang onto the things Jinhwan says.

 

 

 

In his next life, Junhwe starts small– self-choreographed routines in his room, lessons at a dance school, performances at school concerts. He’s thirteen when he gets his first real taste of fame, and his mom cries when she sees him on television. Even his dad nods and tells Junhwe he’s proud of him.

Several audition tapes later, Junhwe gets invited to audition for an entertainment company he knows will get his name out there, if he’s good enough. He’s been through enough lifetimes, allowed himself to be swept up in whatever direction life decides to take him to know what he really wants by now. The right opportunities aren’t that easy to come by– Jinhwan had been right.

So Junhwe goes for it.

He avoids thinking too hard about Jinhwan, though, until he’s fifteen and walking into the building that will be his home for the next– who knows? It could be months, years even. Junhwe’s chest tightens in anticipation at the thought of spending all that time here, working towards his goal. It’ll be hard work, probably more taxing than anything he’s encountered, but he feels ready to take on whatever challenges this place has to offer.

All that changes when he steps into the recording studio.

“New kid,” someone yells, and it takes a moment, but this time Junhwe recognizes the voice as belonging to Kim Hanbin. Before Junhwe can process that fully, someone else comes stumbling over to him with a familiar lack of grace– Bobby.

Junhwe wants to say something, but finds that he has no words. He’d never once considered that Hanbin and Bobby might have a place in the lifetime where he pursued his dreams. This also means–

“Well?” Hanbin asks expectantly, hands on his hips. “Are you a singer? Dancer?” His expression darkens a shade. “Actor?”

“Dancer,” Junhwe answers quickly. Bobby thumps him on the back approvingly.

“We don’t have one of those yet,” he says cheerfully. “We’re not great at dancing, but we used to be far worse.” For some reason, he sounds proud to admit that.

“Come with us to the practice room,” Hanbin says. “You can show us your moves, and Jinhwan-hyung is there right now.”

Junhwe swallows hard. It’s absurd that after all this time, he’s still caught off guard when Jinhwan shows up. The uncertainty and nervousness just never seem to fade. It’s also a little absurd that in all the time he’s known Jinhwan, he’s never seen him dance.

Junhwe manages a nod, and lets them lead the way.

The practice room is in the basement, a spacious studio lined with full-length mirrors on one side. Jinhwan is standing in the middle, doing stretches. Junhwe might not have recognized him at a glance– Jinhwan is wearing a large hoodie, hood pulled over the dark green snapback on his head. His stature is a bit of a giveaway, though.

“Hyung,” Hanbin calls. “We have someone to introduce to you.”

Junhwe’s heart feels like it’s lodged in his throat. But then Jinhwan turns, gaze settling on him, and something strange happens. Recognition flashes in his eyes.

Junhwe takes a startled step back. Jinhwan seems surprised too, eyes going wide.

Bobby clears his throat. “Earth to Jinhwan,” he says loudly. “Earth to Junhwe. This practice room is sacred, alright? This is a UST-free zone.”

Junhwe isn’t even paying enough attention to him to wish he would shut up. He’s too focused on Jinhwan, hearing nothing but blood rushing through his ears as he watches emotions flicker across Jinhwan’s face. They’re all familiar, all things he’s felt before. It’s as though everything is finally coming together.

Something washes over Junhwe– it’s relief, he realizes. Relief tinged with hope.

Jinhwan takes a step forward, lips quirking upwards in a smile.

“Junhwe,” he says. Quietly, warmly, like he’s said his name countless times before. “Do you believe in fate?”


End file.
